


I Guess That's Love

by callunavulgari



Series: Dark Month Collection [43]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural (TV) Fusion, Angels, Demons, F/M, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 19:23:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callunavulgari/pseuds/callunavulgari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You will always end up here,” Hades whispers to Nico in the year 2014, wearing Bianca’s face all wrong. Nico watches the world burn all around him, watches as the people he’s grown to love over the years get carried away by death, and falls for an angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Guess That's Love

**Author's Note:**

> Dark Month, Day 18. This wasn't even on my list, but I rewatched [this video](http://youtu.be/Bf37i--RD1I) and was overcome with the need to write the di Angelo siblings as the Winchesters and Percy in Castiel's role. It was fun to write, even if it did get a little weird towards the end, but hey, that's Supernatural for you.

When Nico was six months old, his mother burst into flames above his crib. How she got there didn’t matter just then, because he was a baby—a squalling baby whose eyes flashed black as beetle wings. He reached for Bianca when she rushed into the room, face a mask of horror. They’d never known their father, so it was just Bianca, six years old and terrified, hesitating for the space of a breath just over the threshold of the doorway—Bianca who cast one last look at their mother wreathed in flames and made her heart turn to steel.  
  
The firemen didn’t know what to make of it, these two soot-smudged children—one squalling fit to wake the street, the other dead-eyed and staring at the ruin of her home.  
  
No one knew how the fire started.  
  
Eventually, someone would, but that day was yet to come.  
  
.  
  
They bounced around foster homes for five years, until a man named Chiron took them away from it all.  
  
“I owe your father a favor,” was all he said when Bianca asked about it one day. Her cereal had turned to sludge and beside her, Nico was quiet, playing with his cheerios. He’d always been a quiet baby.  
  
“Is that so,” Bianca had hissed, eyes hardening.  
  
“Eat your cereal,” he said in lieu of replying, knuckles white in his lap.  
  
.  
  
“You’re going to have to learn about this sooner or later,” Chiron told them one day over a table covered in knives.  
  
“So what,” Bianca muttered, because she was fourteen years old and, according to their teachers, hopelessly argumentative. “You’re going to turn us into child soldiers? Are you a part of some kind of cult?”  
  
He’d quirked a smile at them and slapped Nico’s hand away—gently—which had been creeping towards a rusty machete. The look Nico gave him was utterly flat, but could have curdled milk.  
  
“Not quite. I’m here to teach you the family business.”  
  
.  
  
They grow—they learn.  
  
They _hunt_.  
  
.  
  
The year that Nico turns thirteen, he gets caught kissing another boy in one of the empty classrooms on school grounds. The principal wants to expel him, because Nico di Angelo is not what some may call a star student, but Bianca immediately puts her foot down.  
  
“My father,” she growls, sucking in a great breath through her nose and letting it out shakily through her mouth. “Will sue you fucks into an early grave if you even _think_ about touching a hair on his son’s head.”  
  
“Mr. Chir—”  
  
“Not that father,” she whispers through a gritted, dangerous smile, eyes gleaming shiny and black as void when the light hits them. She is nineteen years old and still spindly, her legs too long and her frame wiry. The man cowers away from her anyway.  
  
On the ride home, Nico turns to her, glowering through his bangs. His feet are up on the dashboard. Bianca smacks them down, because her baby is a goddamn _antique_.  
  
“You didn’t have to do that,” he mutters, glaring with all the force of a still spotty teenager. There are bags beneath his eyes and scars crisscrossing his skin beneath his clothes. Her brother looks tired.  
  
“Yes, I did,” she tells him, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “We’re family.”  
  
.  
  
A year before that incident, when Bianca turned eighteen, she got a visit from someone.  
  
He was tall, pale, dressed in an expensive suit. She was grimy, the ragged hem of the button up she’d grabbed from the local Goodwill still wet with blood, seated in an alleywall and willing herself to forget the pain in her possibly broken leg and _get up_.  
  
The man in the expensive suit studied her, head cocked so his dark hair fell into his eyes. She bared her teeth.  
  
“What do you want, asshole? I’m not for sale,” she’d hissed, trying again to get to her feet. She collapsed, miserably, against the wall.  
  
The man chuckled, like she was being funny, and crouched down next to her. His eyes looked like black pinholes in the darkness, pale skin like the underbelly of a fish. Not a lot scared Bianca di Angelo, but this man, she was beginning to realize, _did_.  
  
“Bianca,” the man had breathed at last, and she flinched, as if she’d been stabbed.  
  
“How do you know my name?”  
  
“I know many things about you, my daughter. I know when you were born and how your mother died. I know that Chiron has been looking after you for a time as a favor to me.” He reached out, as if to stroke her cheek, and she recoiled so fast that her head thunked painfully against the brick.  
  
“You—” she whispered, staring the king of hell in the face— _her father_ —who Chiron had only told her about the night before. A demon, _the demon_ , like the ones they’d been hunting for years.  
  
“Happy birthday, Bianca,” he had told her, bowing his head and mending her ankle with a touch.  
  
She blinked and he was gone.  
  
.  
  
They don’t necessarily fight, when Nico decides to go to Stanford.  
  
They rage at each other, tear each other apart as Chiron watches, helpless.  
  
In the end, they go their separate ways. Bianca to the east with a band of female hunters and Nico to the west, to California. He’s not stupid enough to think that it’ll be a new start—doesn’t think that he’ll ever be normal. But he does want some kind of reprieve.  
  
He gets one, for a while at least. He wears crisp suits that his father sends him and studies law, because what better way to know how to evade it when the time comes—when he and his sister get in too deep and need a way out?  
  
Nico di Angelo has never once set eyes on his father. He still gets gifts, sometimes almost before he thinks he may need something.  
  
.  
  
Nico dates a boy that Bianca doesn’t know the name of.  
  
To her knowledge, he’s been dating him for some time.  
  
The day that Bianca meets him is the day that she watches him burn, after images of her mother searing the insides of her eyelids as she guides her brother away.  
  
.  
  
They fall into the pattern that they’ve known since they were young. When all else fails, fall back on the family business.  
  
They hunt, they sleep in skeevy motel rooms, and Nico trades his fancy suits in for an old aviators jacket that hides the sharpness of his shoulderblades and a pair of worn jeans.  
  
They fight the good fight, blood on their teeth and dead smiles on their faces.  
  
.  
  
“Make me feel normal,” Nico sobs at her one night. _It isn’t like him to cry_ , she thinks sleepily, before catching a whiff of his breath. He clenches her nightshirt in his hands the way he used to clutch at an old blanket that always seemed to smell of ash and when his hands start to skate up her ribcage, her breath catches in her throat.  
  
“We aren’t normal, brother,” she tells him, a sad smile tugging at her lips.  
  
“ _Please_ ,” he gasps, ragged, and she sighs, rolling him so he’s beneath her.  
  
He stares at her, eyelashes wet and clumping together, black eyes hazy from the drink. She presses his wrists back down into the sheets, using her body weight to keep him pinned beneath her. He’s still watching her and as she blinks down at him, she remembers being young, remembers the first time that she’d ever seen him—when her mother had brought him home swaddled in blue blankets. He was such a tiny thing. For six months, she'd been afraid to touch him, terrified that he might break. And then she'd had to touch him, because it was that or let him die.  
  
She rolls her hips against his—slowly, experimentally—and when his hips twitch up into hers, she smiles and bends to kiss him.  
  
“Just the once,” she murmurs against his lips. “Just for the night, no more.”  
  
He nods, helplessly, and surges up to catch her bottom lip between his teeth.  
  
They don’t talk about it and after so long, it feels like it never even happened, just the memory of a good dream.  
  
.  
  
Another thing they don’t talk about:  
  
Nico, when he’s exhausted enough, shakes bones free from the earth before they even have the chance to dig them up. He always blinks at her after, surprised, and then they go about salting and burning the bones. It's easier to ignore the unexplainable when it comes to them and the universe they've made in each other.  
  
.  
  
Then one day, he’s gone.  
  
Taken from her to play the part in some grand plan, some scheme that their father’s brother concocted.  
  
She learns the truth of their mother’s death—the blood that their uncle dribbled into her baby brother’s mouth, and thinks, _Why give a half demon child more demon blood_?  
  
The answer appears to her in the form of her brother crumpling into her arms when she reaches him, spinning them so that she takes the knife meant for him.  
  
There’s blood on her tongue and the world feels like it’s shaking, the earth trembling beneath her, and Nico’s shouting at her, eyes wide and panicked.  
  
 _Why give a half demon child more demon blood?_ she thinks, deliriously, drowning in her own blood.  
  
Why, to make that child _stronger_.  
  
Her brother’s lips touch her cheek, his arms around her, shaking her. He’s crying, she thinks.  
  
She closes her eyes.  
  
.  
  
The things that Bianca di Angelo doesn’t know about that night: Her brother causes an earthquake just to swallow up the man who’d killed her, an 8.6 on the richter scale. Her brother makes a deal with a demon. And the final thing that she doesn’t know, is that she died.  
  
.  
  
She finds out, eventually. How could she not when her brother’s life hangs in the balance?  
  
They spend the next year of their lives trying to find a way to break his contract, how to get him out of dying for her.  
  
A demon named Thalia helps them—giving them a knife, a name, and every once in a while, her help.  
  
In the end, Nico still dies.  
  
.  
  
When Nico wakes up, he claws himself free of the earth with a push of his mind. The windows of the gas station shatter around him, but he manages to get a call out to Chiron.  
  
Bianca, when she sees him, first tries to kill him, then kisses him on both cheeks and does her damn best to crush his ribs.  
  
.  
  
“My name is Percy Jackson, I’m an angel of the lord.”  
  
Bianca is passed out in his lap and Nico is spitting angry, but the only thing that comes to mind is, “Who the fuck names an angel Percy Jackson?”  
  
“I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition,” the angel goes on with a cocky quirk of his lips, like he hasn’t even heard Nico.  
  
.  
  
Perseus is a more suitable name, but not by much.  
  
.  
  
Bianca has a problem.  
  
That problem is a feathery asshole that Nico doesn’t think she notices him making moony eyes at.  
  
The other couple problems are Percy’s brothers and sisters and how all angels are assholes.  
  
But none of those seem to matter too much when she’s watching Nico blink at Percy through thick lashes, leaning just a fraction too close, like he’s drunk off of the creature’s presence.  
  
At least, they don’t matter much until the angels take her brother away.  
  
.  
  
See, the thing is, while her brother was dead, Bianca was busy.  
  
Her memory is hazy at best of that time of her life, but she remembers Thalia. Thalia grinning at her, short hair damp with sweat—the demon’s hands carding through her hair, Bianca’s teeth at her wrist. She remembers blood on her lips and strength in her bones.  
  
She remembers hatching a plan, not knowing just how much it would go sour before the end.  
  
.  
  
“This isn’t in the script,” Rachel hisses. It’s only the second time that Nico has seen the Oracle of Delphi, but it’s probably the most lasting impression. Her red hair is tangled around her shoulders, frizzy, sleep gunk clinging to the corners of her eyes. She’s in a bathrobe and not much more.  
  
Percy’s hand is on his wrist and the look in the angel’s eyes hasn’t changed since he wrote a sigil in his own blood and banished his brother.  
  
“Go,” he whispers, stroking one light finger over Nico’s cheekbone. He smiles, soft, despite the glow of the archangel intent on scattering their guts to the wind.  
  
Nico blinks and Percy’s gone, and he’s standing outside the doors as his sister stands above the first woman—the first demon, eyes black as tar.  
  
.  
  
The following things happen: an apocalypse is started, Nico gets a firsthand glimpse of his future self, and Percy falls.  
  
The way he falls is the important part, because it isn’t as simple as falling from grace.  
  
Love is never simple.  
  
“You will always end up here,” Hades whispers to Nico in the year 2014, wearing Bianca’s face all wrong.  
  
Nico watches the world burn all around him, watches as the people he’s grown to love over the years get carried away by death, and falls for an angel.  
  
.  
  
“I did all of this for you,” Percy hisses, a hand curled tight in Nico’s collar. His hand is raised, rage in his eyes, and for a moment, Nico thinks that he may hit him.  
  
Instead, Percy lets out a terrible, broken noise, more sob than laugh, and wrenches Nico forward. The catch and slide of their lips moving together burns bright through the gloom, illuminates the dying world.  
  
His sister is gone, a puppet to his father, and he has nothing left—nothing but this—an angel’s mouth on his and a fist in his hair, tugging them sharply together.  
  
Nico laughs into Percy’s mouth and shoves a hand down his pants.  
  
.  
  
“Tell me you won’t say yes to my father—my _brother_ ,” Percy pleads afterward.  
  
The sweat has cooled on their skin.  
  
“I won’t,” Nico says.  
  
It tastes like a lie.  
  
.  
  
(It isn’t. They don’t need him anymore.  
  
He and Bianca never did get around to actually meeting Hazel. At that point she’d already been a mouldering corpse.  
  
They never think of her, until it’s too late.)  
  
.  
  
They’re standing over a pit and in Bianca’s eyes, there is hesitation. Her father is raging inside of her, but for that brief moment, there’s just her brother, face swollen with bruises in the shape of her knuckles. Love flares like a song along her ribs and she stifles a sob.  
  
“Bianca, no,” Nico whispers, his mouth shaping the words like a prayer.  
  
She closes her eyes and tackles her half-sister backwards into the pit.  
  
She has no time for regret.  
  
.  
  
“Are you god?” Nico will whisper, broken, when Percy comes back to life.  
  
Percy will stroke his lips and heal his wounds. He will tell Nico that he is not and then gather him close, rocking him on grass that once was a pit, however briefly.  
  
Nico will sob and Percy will hold him.  
  
.  
  
They won’t know what’s yet to come, not until they live it. Nico isn’t an oracle, so he won’t know what’s ahead of him. He won’t know that he’ll get his sister back, but that it will be the wrong one. He won’t know about the leviathans or the demons, how he will almost lose Percy to a variety of circumstances, the least of which being _a girl_.  
  
He won’t know about Annabeth, or the way she looks at Hazel when she says, “Save your brother. And my unicorn.”  
  
Rachel shakes awake, head throbbing—a week, a month, maybe a year later, and reaches for her pencil.  
  
She writes:  
  
 _So what's it all add up to? It's hard to say. But me, I'd say this was a test... for Bianca and Nico. And I think they did all right. Up against, Good, Evil, angels, devils, Destiny, and God himself, they made their own choice. They chose family. And, well... isn't that kinda the whole point? No doubt—endings are hard. But then again... nothing ever really ends, does it?_  
  
  



End file.
